"Thinks I'm an old mule. Me feet's skinned, me back's skinned, me heart's skinned carryin' them blessed boxes of crackers. Oh, why did I leave me little happy home?" he exclaimed, wiping the sweat off his sunburnt brow.
"Had to—ye frizzly-faced bushwhacker," said Paddy.
"All this means that there's something doing," remarked Claud, cleaning his monocle with a piece of rag.
"Ay, there's gaun tae be an attack. Say yer prayers the nicht, boys," added Sandy.
"Thank God!" uttered Claud. "I'm sick of inaction. I don't mind death; but it's a beastly bore waiting to be killed. One can't quite regulate supplies. Now, if to-morrow was the day for our dispatch, we might have a beano out of our spare biscuits and Woodbines to-night."
"It ain't all beer and skittles, as you say," Bill said. "Next war I'm goin' to be a general or a Navy bloke. Them's the safe jobs. These ole Turks have a spite at me. Think I'm a sort o' runnin' man."
"Let them come!" Paddy exclaimed. "We'd bate the life out of thim. Teach thim manners, the dirty blaggards!"
"Don't be too cocky about that. We're only hanging on the edge of this cliff by the skin of our teeth. The German Staff say they'll push us into the sea, and you bet they'll have a good try."
"It's a soft snap, if they come. They can't beat us," interjected Bill, who had all the self-assurance of the Australian born.
"That's where our boys always err," answered Claud. "They underestimate the power of the enemy. That isn't the thing in war. It's all very well to be confident, but it's equally important to be prepared to the last cartridge and bomb. Pluck's a very good thing, but pluck without brains is as useless as an engine without coal. If these Turks make a big show, they'll give us a run for our money. Now I'm going to sleep."